


Can a baby be a sugar like a Daddy?

by batsaboutbats



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Sugar Baby, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batsaboutbats/pseuds/batsaboutbats
Summary: John finds himself a sugar daddy. Or a baby? Can a baby be a sugar? Probably. He’s not arsed either way.
Relationships: John Constantine/Tim Drake
Comments: 20
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

Tim Drake is just standing there, loaded as a Daddy Warbucks and holding the keys to Wayne Enterprises, and John Constantine knows a lonely soul when he sees it. Not to say the kid is easy pickings, he’s smarter than a demon with a contract to sign and as pretty as a fairy in spring. There's plenty of distraction going on though, with the latest buzzing rivalries in the League. The bats are apparently engaged in some kind of warfare, one-upping each other in how annoying they can be with PDA. The fact that Bruce is even participating has John side eyeing his entire reasoning to have a membership in the club, because he never thought he'd see the day the bat would smile without a criminal in cuffs. It's creepy as hell and he's not sure he can take much more of it.

Red Robin seems completely forgotten in the chaos, muted and overlooked. John can almost see why, he's not a loud personality among the flock of birds that surround the bat. Compared to Hood or the infamous Nightwing, he's like a Velma to Daphne. He doesn't outwardly protest anything his family is up to, but he definitely withdraws in their presence. It's not jealousy, not by a long shot, he just looks sad. 

It's his turn on watchtower duty, and Tim Drake just happens to be on rotation too. Apparently he's just filling in for Wally. They exchanged pleasantries over an hour ago and the kid has delved into some sort of casefile on his laptop to pass the time. John has watched him drain about four mugs of coffee, crinkling his nose at the inferior bean juice. 

“I think I'm gonna have to cut you off, Yank.” He drawls, as the kid frowns into his empty cup.

“I'll cut you if you try.” Tim shoots back, and John grins at the snark.

“Kinky.” He coos, subtle as he casts a quick hex at the coffee machine. It short circuits before Tim reaches it to make a new pot. Tim doesn't actually cut him, but the next time he has watchtower duty there's not a single bag of tea to be found. Just cabinet after cabinet of shitty, instant coffee. Folgers. To add salt to the wound it's fucking decaf. John gets so angry he develops tinnitus for several moments, because of fucking course a bloody yank would hit him where it hurts. He should have known a yank would be fucking feral enough to waste it.

The thought of all that tea in Gotham harbor makes him want to cry.

They have a war all their own from that point on, and John is quietly impressed at the levels of absolute lows the little sneak is able to sink to. He turns the kid's cape pink, and in turn his favorite trenchcoat disappears, replaced with a fucking Gotham Knights windbreaker. It's not even a recent design either, it's definitely from the eighties and ugly to boot. It was his own fault for taking it off and hanging it on the back of his chair but he didn't even hear him sneak up on him. 

The next time they bump into each other, it's in Gotham. Without the watchtower rules and regulation between them, John is more than ready to give the yank hell. Tim is in civvies, dressed for a night on the town and a small but striking figure inside the deafeningly loud club. He smirks, sliding up behind the shorter man as he dances, keeping a certain table full of mobsters in line of view. He just means to tease him, ruffle his feathers a little. He bumps the back of Tim's knees to send him off balance, ready to laugh at him stumbling.

John doesn't fuck up often but when he does it's unfortunately epic. Tim doesn't pitch forward, instead he falls back against him, and John can't help but catch him since he might get sent down too. Awkwardly the man's backside grinds into an intimate area, both of them making a noise lost beneath the heavy techno mix of Lady Gaga singing about bad romances.

Tim's eyes are so blue they are practically neon in the lighting. He seems startled to see John, loosening the bruising grasp he has on his wrist. Another pound of pressure and he thinks the kid might have snapped it. The next instant and Tim's rolling with the punches easily, dragging John's hand up to his hip, pressing it there with purpose before he grinds against him, slow and filthy as a gutter. He is touching Tim's skin, the tight designer t-shirt that probably cost more than John's whole outfit riding up his diamond cut abs. Who knew the bat was hot as fire to the touch, and not cold like the ice queen he projected to the world?

He can feel his stomach jump when he smooths his palm over it, dragging the kid back fully against him to press his mouth to his ear. “Bigly over there has a knife pressed to that's go-go girl's femoral artery.”

The girls at the table don't look too happy to be there with a bunch of mobsters, The big fat bloke is pawing the definitely underage teen openly, though one hand stays between her legs under the table, switchblade dug into her thigh as a warning. Probably a human trafficking ring? John can only guess but Tim doesn't stop moving against him, nodding once.

“Can you cause a distraction?”

“Sweetheart, I can cause a riot.” John grins.

Glassing someone, while extremely bloody, is a good way to start one. Bigly's right hand man didn't see it coming when John pretends to drunkenly waltz past, before tearing the broken beer bottle down his mug. Tim vanishes in the turmoil, as people start screaming and fists start flying. It's all gravy, since it takes the attention off the girls who scramble from the table in the chaos. 

Red Robin drops from the skylight, table breaking beneath his weight as he comes down. Bigly's knees get crushed in the process and it's over from that point. John can appreciate the neat, quick fight that follows because the kid lithe as a mongoose. Not a single punch is wasted, and he's zip stripping them all up for bag and tag by the cops that are already blaring sirens outside. 

In under thirty minutes John finds himself out on the street again, and Tim is back in civvies dragging him away from the club. He doesn't even know how the kid got changed so quick, or where his gear went. For a bat, he sure seems to have some tricks up his sleeves. It not really important.

He's far more interested in the healthy flush filling Tim's pale face, following where he's being lead, the young man's hand warm and a little sweaty around his wrist. They come to a stop a few streets down, in front of a cheesesteak stand, where Tim orders two loaded hoagies and shoves one at him. It's dubious looking but he's put worse things in his mouth. It smells good.

“Ohhhh my god.” He moans, chewing. The sandwich is ugly looking, but the meat is juicy and tender and the cheese just has the right hint of sharpness to blend with the spices. Tim just smirks, before he demolishes his own.

“Thanks for the assist.” Tim licks his thumb clean, and John's mind wanders back to the club, and the warm press of his svelte backside. “What are you doing here?”

“Never you mind.” John is not discussing work, because he knows better than to drag the bats into his business. He'd never get anything done, and the less they knew the better. He knows they have a code against killing, and that's what he is prepared to do if that's what it takes. Tim shrugs, as if to say your funeral. “Didn't expect to see you there.” He admits.

“Mm. I didn't plan it.” Tim tells him begrudgingly. “He's got a warrant and been in hiding. So when I saw him go in I took a chance.” John gets the feeling that he doesn't like moving without thinking twenty moves ahead. He can appreciate being prepared, but sometimes spontaneity is the spice of life.

“So...You wanna go somewhere quiet and fuck?” John asks in jest when Tim takes a sip of his soda, half expecting him to choke. He still has to get back at him for the coat incident. He's absolutely not expecting Tim to throw his drink and sandwich wrapper away and step into his space to drag him down by the collar for a kiss.

It's clumsy and tastes like beef, but the hunger is still there. John wraps his arms around his waist and leans into it, tempering it into something more finessed. Tim's lips are wet when he pulls away, though his eyes are sharp and alert. He's not sure if the kid is wearing a cup or if that's something more interesting jutting up against his thigh, but he's down to find out.

He just hopes the big bad bat doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

“Jesus _fucking_ Mary where do you hide all that??” John groans, face buried in the sinfully soft pillow on Tim's bed. Behind him the kid grunts sinking further into him, filling and pressing in what feels like an endless slide.

“You ok?” The cap on the lube bottle pops, chilly slick drizzling over his crack. He nods, because he knows he can take it. He's had larger, but it's been a while and _fuck him_ the kid had a really nice curve to his willy that seems to hit all the right places to make him whimper.

It had been a blur as they stumbled into Tim's safehouse and made out against the bedroom door before finally making it to the bed. Tim was shorter and small compared to most heroes he worked with, but he was every bit as honed as his family. John had practically tongue fucked his navel, dragging his teeth over his chiseled abs while he made quick work of Tim's belt. He wasn't wearing a cup, and he'd stared openly when his trouser snake turned out to be an anaconda. It all but fell out of his fly, and John moaned in appreciation. Bats were smug by nature, but Tim just seemed apologetic and downright sheepish. As if this gorgeous pipe was anything to be shy about.

“Yeah—Oh,” He gasped when John took him into his mouth and sucked him till he was jerking against his tongue. Tim was red all the way to his ears when John pulled off him with a pop, cheekily grinning at him. It was tempting to finish the younger man off like that, but now that he knew what the kid was packing he wanted it inside him as of yesterday.

It was a pleasant surprise when Tim toppled him onto the bed with a light shove, crawling after him to return the favor, tongue practically dancing over his tip. He'd expected the kid to be reserved but he was bold and fucking beautiful with a cock in his mouth. His own sexual escapades were numerous and varied, because he would be the first to admit he was a complete slut. He was absolutely nobody to judge but he would never have guessed a bat would go straight from a blow job into the best rim job he'd had in his life. Of course Tim was a perfect gentleman and asked permission to finger him.

“Safeword is _Titmouse_.” John growled eagerly, hooking a leg over Tim's shoulder to drag him in closer. “So do whatever you want.”

That was how he ended up face down like the pillow biter he was and Tim seemed to like having control. What bat didn't? Point was he was very happy with the current state of affairs and Tim thrust hard enough to bring stars across his vision and deep enough that he was going to feel it for days.

“You absolute _bastard_ ,” John whined when dragged up onto his knees with a rough yank on his hips. At that angle Tim was practically hammering his prostate and John couldn't stop the noises he made if he tried. “No handy??” He panted, trying to look over his shoulder. He was unprepared for the smoldering gaze roving down his body.

“What makes you think you deserve one?” Tim huffed, bowing over to grind into him. _Fair_ , John thought.

“You gonna make me beg?” John smirked. “You'll be waiting forever.”

“I won't even if you do.” Tim sunk his teeth into his ear, laughing softly. “If you don't stop being a brat I won't let you cum at all.”

_Oh, nice._ John couldn't believe his fucking good fortune, of course it was always the quiet ones. Pretty, smart, well endowed, and dominant? This might have been a bad idea to start with but he was like a cat, always landing on his feet when things got tough. The pros were beginning to far outweigh the cons as he calculated the stakes of this little encounter. He had a feeling Tim was like that too. Maybe that's why he kissed him. Tired of always being good and on the narrow path his mentor drew in the sand like a stark line.

It was probably going to end in a trainwreck like most of his hookups did and he'd deal with it then. For now he was just going to enjoy the mind blowing sex and let himself feel for a while. Tim seemed to be of the same mind, rutting into him until he felt bruised, but in the good way that punched all the right buttons. Little bastard even pulled his hair,  _fuck_ . 

For someone so slight he sure could toss him around in bed easily. While size play was definitely one of his kinks he usually ended up being the smaller one. He wasn't particularly arsed about the species either. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed Tim pinning his knees to his ears and fucked him open until he howled like a cat in heat. He would never have guessed this shit knew just what to do to him.   


It was only when he was catching his breath afterwards, feeling wrecked and gaping, that he caught the satisfied smirk on Tim's lips and felt a chill of dread tingle up his spine.  _Oh no_ , he thought too late. He should have known. He should have fucking known a bat would have done it's homework on a target and he'd just walked right into the stupid trap like a goddamn moron. _Since when_? Probably the moment he'd first sat down on watchtower duty.

Hot slickness tickled his thighs as cum leaked out of him and he felt like a squished eclair. A tired, fucked out eclair no less. It wasn't so bad, he supposed. If the kid could just switch from that sewage water he called coffee to a nice cup of tea, he would be perfect. 

* * *

Things didn't change much, except he found himself coming to Gotham a little more often than he should have. They still pranked one another on the watchtower but he suspected Tim was pulling his punches, if only barely. He got real intimate with the kid's roost, a nice little place above an old theater that had some very famous ghosts wandering outside in the alleyway. Tim didn't see them and John knew better than to mention it. They seemed to rile up whenever they saw the bat or his flock, hopelessness yawning in their static gazes. 

The depressing ghouls aside, Tim more than made up for the trip. Sometimes he wouldn't be home but he never questioned John taking up residence on his couch or in his bed when he did get back. It shouldn't have been hot to watch the kid stitch himself together again, but he'd been fucked by King Shark so it was tame kink in comparison.

His trenchcoat made a reappearance on the back of the computer chair in his sweet little lair. Neither of them commented that John always put it back there when he left. Weeks turned to months. Seasons changed. Tim's hair grew longer. The one thing that didn't change was how easily Tim tugged his proverbial chain and the way he just let him because it wasn't like anyone else was doing it these days. He'd had offers but he always refused them. He found himself wondering what Tim would do to him if he accepted, and realized he didn't want to find out. He liked Tim more than those offering up a mere night of  _hiding the purple parsnip_ .

He made tea for himself and Tim begrudgingly tried it. He still drank coffee, weak for that bitchy Siren's slutty call, but not when he was in John's company. Said it was too much work to make two different drinks and while Tim still preferred black english breakfast to earl grey, it was a step in the right direction so John would take it. 

In the blink of an eye John realized it'd been six months since they started fucking and more than half his shit was sprawled all over Tim's roost. He even had a magic circle dedicated to just transporting him there. There was a newly installed closet in the master just for his clothes, a shelf for all his spell books, and his favorite snacks always stocked in the pantry. Best of all, a vintage Aston Martin in pristine condition was sitting in the garage at his disposal whenever he was in town. He'd wrecked the first one, and when he'd come back for the next booty call another one was sitting in its' place. No questions asked, no reprimanding, just pure sugar and hot, mind blowing sex.

They didn't talk about it much. There wasn't much to say. He didn't do sweet talk and Tim liked his dark humor. Perhaps Tim was a little dark too, considering he sported a surprising mean streak. Luckily, John was never  _really_ on the other end of it, but he appreciated the hell out watching thugs get what they had coming when he tagged along on patrol. (He'd long since curbed his shenanigans at the watchtower, thankfully. ) 

Patrolling was a relatively new addition to their dynamic and he kind of enjoyed it. He almost saw why the bats did it.  _Almost._ He still thought nights were better spent bouncing on Tim's dick and getting white girl wasted on the ludicrously expensive scotch that always seemed to appear on the coffee table when he was visiting. But he didn't mind watching Tim knock skulls and break bones too. It was like porn to him. They'd both be randy as hell by the end of the night and barely able to make past the foyer before Tim was picking him up and fucking him against a wall. Or over the couch. Or on the kitchen table. And if he was really good, they finish up in the huge garden tub while the jets bubbled around them.

“Hey I could use your help with something next Thursday.” Tim casually said in passing, as he walked out of the bathroom in the buff. He had fluffed his hair up with a towel, absently hooking it over his nape.

“Let me check my schedule.” John flicked a hand as if to open a book and hummed. “Oh look, I'm free.” He stretched out on the bed, pressing his foot gently against the younger man's balls. Soon enough he was getting hard, perky with interest. “Right after you get over here and put that to use.”

Tim's brow quirked, the edge of his lip twisting into a smirk. “Be at the manor, 6 pm sharp,  _Constance_ .”

“That's Constantine to you,  _wanker_ .”

* * *

He assumed they'd be going down to the cave and doing something case related for the bat. So he was a little more than shocked to get the guest treatment from the butler. Alfred took his coat and led him to a cozy parlor, where he found himself staring at a room full lanterns and bats. Jordan was laughing at something Dick had said, oblivious to the way the room went quiet at his entrance. Tim was nowhere to be seen, the little bastard.

“Constantine?” Bruce's baritone drew his attention to the armchair by the fireplace, and he scowled.

“The one and only.” His lips itched for a cigarette but the pack was in his coat. “What's all this then?” He gestured to the room at large. 

“Dinner party!” Dick was the first to answer, abundantly cheerful. He didn't seem to care they were obviously perplexed at his presence, and it was apparent to Constantine that this wasn't for a case after all. Bruce looked ready to say something, his blue eyes burning with a million questions only to be interrupted by the butler.

“Dinner is served.”

John soon found himself seated across from Jordan and Jason Todd and stuck between Kyle Rayner and Dick. Bruce had dropped the subject, though he was shooting discreet glances between him and Dick.  _ Wrong one Spooky _ , he wanted to say, but he let it go because Alfred brought him the good sherry. 

Of course Tim would arrive late after telling him to be punctual. They were already halfway through the main course and he'd dodged at least sixteen attempts of interrogation from Bruce when the little bastard waltzed in, looking like a bloody boardroom nightmare. Or his own wet dream, depending on how one looked at it. Tim smiled, debonair without a care and sat next to the perky blonde on the other side of Dick.

“You're late.” Bruce admonished, to which Tim just flipped his bangs out of his eyes and sighed.

“Well someone has to run the company, Bruce.” His smile was all teeth and  _hm_ , it wouldn't do to get a stiffy in front of the family would it? “What did I miss?”

“Just the first round of fifty questions.” John drawled, sipping the last mouthful of his drink. “Detective Spooky is trying to figure out who invited me, as if I need an invite at all to crash a party.” Bruce shot him a dirty look, but the others were starting look at Tim and back at him. Jason looked as though he'd eaten a lemon and pulled a blood stained fifty from his wallet. He slid it across the table to Tim who looked as though butter wouldn't melt in his filthy, cock sucking little mouth.

“ _Fucking hell_ , a magic user???” Jason griped. Tim tucked the bill in his shirt pocket, smirking as Bruce began to yell.

Well at least they were all too distracted to notice his newly minted erection, but the glint in Tim's eye told John that _he noticed_ and it was highly likely he was going to take care of it soon. John hoped they christened the liquor cabinet, personally. Seemed like a perfect place to seal the deal, and he could probably take a bottle of scotch or three.

What was a bit of booze between family after all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the end? Maybe. >:3c Maybe not. I might write more if the inspiration hits, but for now I'm gonna call it a night. Hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> https://firefrightfic.tumblr.com/post/621755211630968832/kiseia-im-sorry-but-where-is-constantine-how-can
> 
> written in response to THIS epic yarn of Justice League shenanigans UuUb I am sorry this is stupid af but it's endlessly amusing to me that nobody thought of Bruce getting upset at a magic user meddling with one of his sons. Cause you know, he hates magic about as much if not more than meta powers. XD


End file.
